Plan B
by volley
Summary: Trip and Malcolm face unexpected enemies on an away mission
1. Chapter 1

I started this story well in advance for "'Tis but a Scratch" Month, so I would have plenty of time… it went a lot quicker than I had expected. It seems a shame to keep it in the drawer until April, so I hope my readers will forgive me if I post it sooner… :-)

I have every intention to write another one for April, though!

Set sometime in Season One.

My beta reader was RoaringMice, whom I thank.

§ 1 §

They reached the low wall at a run and dropped to squat behind it. Trip fell with his back against it and blew out a breath – it felt good to take a rest.

Silently blessing the solidity of the structure, he mused that there was no doubt this town had been built to last. No prefabricated units like that time, when they had helped those miners relocate their entire settlement to get rid of those overbearing Klingons. No, here was brick and stone – alien brick and stone, but just as sturdy as Earth's own. Buildings showed no signs of decay; and that really made for quite an eerie atmosphere, for a ghost town. It was as if people had vanished at the wave of a magic wand.

Not _all_ people, actually – Trip amended bleakly, as he tried to catch his breath. But for all he knew their pursuers might not belong to this world either. The atmosphere, in any case, had gone from eerie to plain scary in a matter of seconds.

Trip watched Malcolm lean his head back against the wall and blink a couple of times, as if to clear his vision, or his mind. His chest was heaving but somehow he wasn't making any noise, and Trip wondered how the hell he managed that, for he could hear his own ragged breathing, and do nothing about it. It had to do with a Security Officer's training – he decided.

Eyeing the dark stain on the man's uniform, he tried to call back his basic medical training. The injury was definitely too low to have compromised a lung – thank God. But the stain was quite large, and Trip bit his lip in concern. As he opened his mouth to speak, though, Malcolm lifted a determined arm in warning. Trip watched him tighten the grip on his phase pistol; then turn in a crouch to face the wall, lick his lips, and push up to cast a quick glance over their cover.

"I can't see them, but I know they're coming," the Lieutenant said, once he had crouched back down. "We must keep on the go." He cast a look around, his face a sweaty mask of concentration.

"You're bleedin'," Trip bluntly pointed out.

Malcolm glanced at him; then down his left side. "It's only a scratch," he muttered. "It'll have to wait."

Trip looked back dumbly. A bullet – for he was pretty sure the shots he had heard had come from some sort of old-style gun – definitely had to do more than just a 'scratch'. But his mouth was too dry to speak; and unfortunately a part of him knew Malcolm was right: they couldn't afford to stop and take care of his injury just yet; not with those mad aliens looking for them.

Still in a crouch, Malcolm walked the length of the wall, and Trip followed him, wondering whether the man had a higher-than-normal pain threshold, or was numbed by adrenaline, because he seemed totally unaffected by his injury. Probably both.

"Coast seems clear," the Lieutenant said quietly, having taken a peek. He jerked his chin in the direction of a narrow street. "Let's get to that alley." Readying his pistol to lay down covering fire if need be, he motioned Trip to go first, and after casting a quick glance around, Trip took off. Moments later he was in place, phase pistol in hand, ready to return the favour. Malcolm met his gaze, nodded once, and left the safety of the wall.

Mindful of the Security Officer's lessons, Trip didn't let his focus stray from their surroundings; but out of the corner of his eye he caught enough of Malcolm's progress to notice that his 'scratch' was beginning to bother him. Generally one of the most light-footed people he had ever seen, Malcolm appeared to be burdened down, his movements marred by a slight limp.

The Lieutenant reached the alley and flattened against the wall beside him. "Lovely sunset," he breathed out casually, passing a sleeve across his brow.

Trip shot him a look. It hardly seemed the time to admire the view. But, come to think of it, Malcolm was probably just trying to ease the tension.

"Yeah. Should've brought my camera," he quipped back.

It got him the flash of a smile; Malcolm looked satisfied, as if he had achieved the wanted result.

And it was a view. One of the three suns of this planet was disappearing behind a chain of rather tall mountains, turning the sky to fire. High above, it was already a deep blue-green. Night was coming faster than they had expected. But it wouldn't be long before another sun would rise.

"Maybe at midnight those people will turn into pumpkins," Trip said, though he didn't manage quite the same light tone as before.

Malcolm let out a soft huff. "Don't count on-"

He cut himself off and pulled Trip behind him, pinning him against the wall with an arm across his chest.

Voices.

Trip felt the knot in his gut tighten again with a vengeance. There was something deeply frightening about voices you could not understand, especially when you knew they were hostile. If you could not understand someone, likely they could not understand you. No _understanding_. Scary.

The aggression – from what little Malcolm had told him – had started on sight, before the Lieutenant could have put in a single word of introduction.

Damn scary.

Scans had shown the place was uninhabited, and he and Malcolm had thought nothing of getting separated. They had each been on their own, when things had gone awry. Trip had heard the sound of shots and suddenly Malcolm had reappeared at a run, phase pistol in hand, urging him to 'go'. And there had been that stain on his uniform. No chance to misunderstand what kind of problem had arisen.

Past and present merged as Trip refocused on the Lieutenant's voice quietly ordering him to 'go' once again, gently pushing him along the alley. He did as told, knowing Malcolm was best left in command; grateful that the Captain had sent him on this away mission with the Security Officer and not with – say – Hoshi, or even T'Pol.

They hurried blindly through the maze of deserted streets. They must have been going for a good five minutes, when their jog was brought to an abrupt halt.

More voices.

Malcolm cursed under his breath. They looked around for cover, but none was to be found. Unless... Touching the Security Officer's elbow, Trip pointed to a door, and understanding flashed through the grey gaze.

Good thing he always had a few useful tools with him – Trip mused.

It didn't take him long to get the best of the lock. The people who had lived in this town couldn't have been very advanced, technologically; or maybe they'd had a low crime rate. They hurried inside and closed the door softly behind them. Just in time; they heard the rhythmic sound of marching steps, very close. Tiptoeing into the room that opened on the right, they flattened beside its only window and watched a patrol of five people approach: tall, strong bodies; angular features; black, leathery-looking uniforms; helmets; some sort of short gun slung over their shoulders.

Where in heaven's name had they come out of? – Trip wondered. When Archer had decided to launch two simultaneous away missions to this planet, he and Malcolm were supposed to have got the easy one, checking this abandoned town for any useful scrap material; while Archer, T'Pol and Hoshi mingled in disguise with the pre-warp society on the other continent.

All thoughts were erased from Trip's mind as the five men in uniform filed just metres from him, behind the glass pane. It was the first sight he was catching of their _enemy_, and a shiver ran down his spine. He shifted his gaze to Malcolm, on the other side of the window. The man was leaning with one shoulder against the wall, a block of granite. He didn't even look to be breathing. His eyes were fixed on the scene outside, unblinking; his right arm was stretched down, at a slight angle to the body, pistol aiming at the floor.

The 'soldiers' went off on their way, and Malcolm visibly relaxed, closing his eyes and letting his head fall to the side, against the wall. They stood immobile for another minute, just in case. Finally the grey eyes blinked open again and met his.

"Thanks," Malcolm said quietly.

"Who the hell are these people? They are not supposed to be here!" Trip burst out, an edge to his voice even though he'd kept it low. "And why do they want us dead?"

"Actually, they want _me_ dead," Malcolm amended bleakly. "They only saw one of us; they don't know about you." Putting his pistol back in its holster, he spat out, "I'll be damned if I know. They're the shoot-first-ask-questions-later types."

Trip watched him visibly restrain a flinch as his hand went to his side, and mentally kicked himself. He had almost forgotten about the man's injury. Of course, with someone as stubbornly determined to appear 'fine' as Malcolm, it was almost forgivable.

"Let's have a look at that wound," he said tautly.

"Commander, it's not wise to remain in here for very long," was the slightly frustrated reply. "As I said, it's little more than a scratch, and we'd better-"

"We'll look at that _scratch_, then, Lieutenant," Trip cut him off, countering rank with rank. Malcolm wasn't the only one who could use it for effect.

He bore into the grey gaze, ready to make it an order. He didn't need to. Malcolm looked back for a moment; then blinked. "All right," he mumbled, and his meek compliance, coming unexpectedly, did nothing but send Trip's anxiety up a couple of notches.

Reaching for his flashlight, Trip was about to switch it on to shed some light in the semi-dark room when a hand stopped him. Malcolm inspected the window frame.

"No shutters," he muttered, after a moment. "No bloody curtains either." He shook his head. "It's getting dark outside. We can't risk having light, however faint, in here; too dangerous."

"Then let's find a back room, one without windows."

Trip looked around. They appeared to be in some sort of sparsely-furnished living-room. Table with chairs; niches with shelves and rows of neatly stacked small cases – all the same shape and size, nothing to distinguish one from the other; a rug and pillows on the floor; abstract works of art hanging on the far wall.

"Perhaps that way," Malcolm suggested, indicating a passageway in the left corner. He pushed off the wall, and Trip joined him, putting a hand to the Lieutenant's elbow, which earned him a self-conscious glance.

The apartment was small: what looked like a bedroom; a tiny toilet; and then one room that had a small window set deep in the wall and placed high up, near the ceiling. Trip went to retrieve a couple of pillows from the front room and, having climbed on a counter, stuffed them in front of the window; then, finally, turned on his flashlight. The cone of light revealed what looked like some sort of kitchen.

Malcolm had gone to what was, in all likelihood, a sink; and was fumbling around, trying to get some water. A trickle finally came out of the tap.

"D'you think it's wise to use that water on your injury?" Trip wondered, his voice clearly doubtful.

Malcolm pursed his lips. "We can't use our scanners, those aliens might pick them up" he said. He regarded the water in thought. "You're right," he added darkly after a moment, turning the tap off. "Better not take a chance."

Trip began to open cupboards and pull drawers, hoping to find...

"Bingo."

He showed Malcolm a couple of neatly folded pieces of cloth.

"Not exactly sterile either," the Lieutenant said, lifting his eyebrows, "but at least they look clean."

He fell back against the sink, unzipped his uniform to the waist, and pulled down the top part of it. Trip shifted the light on his injury and winced.

"That's a lot of blood, for a _scratch_."

"It's deceiving," Malcolm said, a hint of pain entering his voice. Biting his lip, he carefully lifted his soaked black shirt and undershirt, and inspected himself. "The bleeding has virtually stopped," he minimised.

"Looks bad," Trip countered. "Is the bullet-"

"Yes. Mind if we get this done, Commander?"

Looking up sharply, Trip watched the grey eyes turn rueful.

"Sorry," Malcolm mumbled.

Trip shook his head, not bothering to say anything. He placed the flashlight on the counter, to have both hands free, and heaved a steadying breath.

"Hold still," he ordered softly; then pressed one of the cloths on the injury, eliciting a hiss. "Hurts?"

Now that was a dumb question.

"Not in the least," Malcolm groaned, eyes scrunched closed.

Trip allowed himself a small smile – that was more like the Malcolm Reed he was used to than the biting retort he'd got a moment before.

"Give me a hand here," he said, guiding Malcolm's hand to the right spot. "Hold the cloth in place while I make the other one into strips."

"I must say, Commander, you have unexpected skills," Malcolm commented a few minutes later, in a conciliatory voice.

Trip, who was carefully wrapping the makeshift dressing around his midsection, shot him a puzzled frown. "Field medicine is a mandatory course in Starfleet Academy."

There was the beginning of a chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan.

"I was referring to picking locks," Malcolm explained in a choked voice. "No breaking and entering courses in Starfleet Academy, if I recall."

"Ah – that. I've always been good at takin' things apart," Trip replied with a grin. "You could call it a gift."

"Well, perhaps you should share some of your know-how with the Security complement," the Lieutenant said. His voice was strained but held a touch of amusement. "I bet you could teach us something useful."

Having fixed the dressing in place, Trip straightened. "You think you guys are smart enough?" he teased.

"Try us."

"How's that?" Trip asked, looking at his job in satisfaction. "Not too tight?"

Malcolm gave him a grateful look. "It's great, thank you." He started slipping into the top part of his uniform again, wincing ever so slightly.

"Commander... I apologise," he said quietly, after he was done. "That was out of line, before."

"Forget it, Malcolm." Trip didn't give a damn about 'out of line' at the moment.

As he pulled the zip up, Malcolm cast back an uncomfortable glance. "Sometimes I can be a bit of a..." he trailed.

Trip broke into a grin. "We all know that, Loo-tenant."

His playfulness, however, vanished the moment he reclaimed the flashlight and lifted the cone of light to illuminate Malcolm's face. There was no doubt that weariness was beginning to leave its telling signs on it. Anxiety gripped him again. He knew the Security Officer: he'd try his darndest to hide his real condition; or even put you on the wrong track. That's probably what he had already tried to do, with the banter they'd just exchanged.

Something else worried Trip. He himself might be able to break into a house, but he had no first hand experience trying to escape people bent on shooting you dead. Sure, Starflet gave you some basic military training, but he'd hardly had many chances to put any of that into practice – fortunately. Malcolm's expertise was undoubtedly precious in this situation. He needed the man to keep a clear mind.

He joined Malcolm at the sink, where he was rinsing his hands. "How're you holding up?" he asked. He hadn't been very subtle. Trip knew when the Lieutenant turned to give him a pointed look.

"Don't worry, I'll be okay," he quietly replied.

Trip started to rinse his hands too; glad to get them clean.

"Maybe we should try and contact the ship," he said, with a lopsided smirk. It would be so damn nice to let the transporter grip them; leave this town and all of its ghosts behind.

"You know that's not a good idea," Malcolm replied, in a deep voice. "Communication with Enterprise was difficult, for some reason. We'd only risk attracting attention and giving away our position."

Turning the tap off, Trip blew out a breath. "Then maybe we'd better stay in here until the Shuttlepod comes to pick us up."

But Malcolm shook his head.

"This place could turn into our tomb, if those people manage to locate us." He looked Trip straight in the eyes. "We're better off trying to reach the forest. We'll be more or less safe there. With a bit of luck we can find a clearing where the pod can land, and signal our position when we see it approach."

That meant crossing half the town. Trip restrained a grimace of displeasure. Although he trusted the Lieutenant's judgement entirely, he didn't fancy going out again; he instinctively felt safe within four walls. But he knew Malcolm was right. And that the man would do everything in his power to keep them safe.

"Alright," Trip breathed out. Lifting his eyebrows, he added, "Lead the way."

TBC

Please leave a review.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your reviews, some of them were quite insightful! On with the adventure.

§ 2 §

The sky was a deep blue, but in the distance, opposite the chain of mountains, a hint of pink was already heralding the new dawn. They stopped just outside the door and listened. Silence, of the kind so deep that it felt almost like a presence, surrounded them.

"That way, I guess," Trip whispered after a moment, waving a thumb.

Malcolm nodded and took point. Trip watched him. There was that limp again, and it was more pronounced. He tried not to dwell on it, and concentrated on keeping his senses sharp.

They might not know the exact layout of this town, but they could tell which way to go. The mountains provided a good landmark for orientation, and they knew that the forest stretched to the west of them. Thank God for Survival Training and its lesson of making a point to notice things on their way in to some place.

They went for about half-an-hour. The town hadn't looked that large when Travis had flown over it, before landing and letting them off; but now there seemed to be no end to it. Even though they had encountered no one, he and Malcolm hadn't exchanged a single word. They proceeded with caution, scanning each street visually before venturing into it. As to their instruments, they had remained unused in their pockets; they were too concerned that any technology would reveal their position.

Stopping, Malcolm jerked his chin in the direction of a large blob of stone cut in an abstract form, which stood in the middle of a square. "I wonder what that monument is supposed to represent," he said, breaking the silence for the first time since they had left the house.

He hadn't quite managed a steady voice, and it clashed with the tone of the question. He leaned with one outstretched arm on a pole. He looked – Trip thought – quite fatigued.

"Non-figurative art can be interesting, but I can't say I care for that example," Malcolm went on, his clipped British accent marred by breathlessness.

Was this unlikely topic of conversation another attempt to ease the tension and divert attention from himself? If the man was in pain – which he had to be, to some extent – he was hiding it well. Trip studied him, but his assessing look must have been a bit too obvious, because the Lieutenant straightened and stood on his own, darting him a hooded glance.

"I hope it isn't a rendering of the mayor," Trip commented with a mirthless snort, going along. He didn't get a retort; Malcolm's focus was back on their surroundings.

"Okay," the Lieutenant instructed, passing the back of a hand over his brow. "Let's try and get to the other side quickly; we'll be rather exposed, crossing this square."

Yes, Malcolm's condition had definitely worsened; but Trip bit his tongue. There was no point asking the man how he was doing. He already knew what answer he'd get.

They started crossing at a brisk pace, and were right in the middle when they became aware of an indistinct noise; a second later headlights sliced the semi-darkness in the distance, straight ahead.

"Get down," Malcolm urged, but Trip had already taken refuge behind the monument, which provided convenient cover just in time.

They watched in tense silence a small but sturdy vehicle appear. It turned into one of the streets that converged to the square, and proceeded at slow speed, the people in it obviously looking for _someone_.

They adjusted their position for the best possible cover, and Malcolm slowly reached for his phase pistol, Trip following suit. Eyes fixed on the vehicle moving towards them, the Lieutenant spoke, in a low but determined voice.

"If bad comes to worse I'll fire and run off. You stay put, Commander. When they go after me, try to reach that forest."

The use of rank made the request official; indeed, considering the fact that Malcolm was technically in command, this was virtually an order.

"No way," Trip replied firmly. He gripped his weapon more tightly, ignoring the knot in his gut. "We're in this together."

"I'm not planning on turning this planet into my resting place, Sir," Malcolm came back with surprising calm, giving Trip somewhat of a pissed-off glance. "They don't know about you. Get to that forest and contact the ship; and have us both transported out." He licked his lips, eyes back on the approaching threat. "I'm not new to this, Commander, I'll be fine."

Trip clenched his jaw. Malcolm might have a point; but he hated the idea of leaving an injured man, a colleague, a friend to risk his life, while himself…

There was no time to waver, though, or say anything else; the vehicle was closing in, and Malcolm was already aiming.

At the last moment, unexpectedly, the aliens veered and turned into another street.

Trip blew out a breath, closing his eyes; but his relief was short-lived and he cursed under his breath, flashing them open again.

"There are more, I can hear them."

Yes, he could hear the low, rumbling sound of engines. If there was something he would recognise it was the sound of an engine – even an alien engine.

Malcolm touched his arm, and pushed to a standing position. "Come on, let's get out of here before they show up," he urged.

Hand on his injured side, he took off at a limping jog, swerving from their previously set course, with Trip just behind.

They'd have to get to that forest by a different, more winding route.

They kept going for several minutes, mindful of any sound that might tell them what would be around the next bend, or in the next street.

The sky had already shifted into a light shade of blue. Trip lifted his eyes for a mere instant and almost crashed into Malcolm, who had suddenly slowed to a walk. The Lieutenant's breathing was more laboured than their light jogging would have warranted, for someone as fit as he was; and it wasn't a pretty sound.

"You okay?" Trip enquired, as he fell in step.

Malcolm grunted something that sounded like a 'yeah'; but a moment later stopped and and doubled up, hands braced on his knees, face scrunched up.

Trip grabbed him as he wobbled. "Malcolm?"

"Bit light-headed," was the mumbled reply.

Accepting Trip's support, Malcolm struggled to regain control. After a long moment he slowly straightened up again, but Trip didn't let go of him; the man still looked like he might faint.

"I'll slow you down," the Lieutenant blurted out, blinking against his dizziness.

"Let's not start with those strange ideas of yours again," Trip came back firmly.

He looked around. Not far were stairs leading down into... He didn't know what; but it looked good enough.

"Come."

Half dragging half supporting the injured man, Trip stumbled down into a sort of underpassage; it was damp and musty, but he counted his blessings. At least they'd be out of sight. With his help, Malcolm dropped to a crouch and leaned back against the wall. Pressing a hand on his eyes, for a long moment he didn't move; his body was run through by a small tremor.

Trip fell on his haunches beside him. "You with me?" he asked, putting a hand on Malcolm's shoulder. He could feel warmth radiating from his friend. The grey eyes re-emerged, framed by features that even in the faint light filtering through looked drawn and sweaty, and much too pale.

"I can't keep up," Malcolm said, capturing Trip's gaze. He hugged himself but that didn't stop his shivers. "You must go on your own."

Trip slowly shook his head. "I'm not leavin' you."

"Commander," Malcolm weakly insisted.

"No," Trip cut him off. "I'm not leavin' an injured man behind."

They stared silently at each other. Trip knew Malcolm was weighing things up, putting his tactical mind to work, and wished he could read him better. The conscientious officer in him would not leave things to chance; he'd have some sort of plan B; but even sick as a dog the Lieutenant was able to let you see only what he wanted.

"All right," the man finally croaked out.

Trip narrowed his eyes. It was the second time, today, that Malcolm surprised him with unexpected compliance. Why, once again, wasn't he feeling good about it?

Keeping his right arm wrapped around his midsection, Malcolm held out his left one to be helped up. As Trip pulled him to his feet, he couldn't repress a groan; but once in an upright position he seemed able to stand on his own.

"I think it's better if you take point, then," Malcolm muttered, darting him a strange glance.

He probably felt bad about the fact that, as a Security Officer, he was needing protection instead of giving it – Trip reasoned. Well, maybe he could use the man's own tactics and ease some of the tension.

"Whatever you say, Sir," he quipped, forcing a half smile on his lips.

Malcolm responded, his mouth curving slightly up as well; but the expression on his face had nothing to do with a smile. It had nothing to do with being worried or in pain, either – Trip felt sure about it. He didn't know what it was; all he knew was that it tightened that knot in his gut yet a bit more.

Mindful of any noise, they carefully re-emerged from the tunnel, into the light. The sun was out. Trip squinted against the glare; then turned to check on the Lieutenant. He looked like hell but seemed to be able to walk.

Malcolm nodded, like saying 'I'll be fine', and Trip turned to figure out which way to go.

TBC

Any comments will be greatly appreciated :-)


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!

§ 3 §

If they survived this he was going to kill Malcolm with his own hands – Trip decided, as he watched the scene before him in horror.

There had been patrols, many of them. It had got more and more difficult to evade them, and they had become pretty desperate. But the Lieutenant had strongly advised against taking refuge inside another house, insisting that with their pursuers passing the town through a fine sieve, as they were doing, any closed place was more than likely to turn into a deadly trap. Trip had trusted his judgement, even though he could see that Malcolm's strength was quickly draining out of him. He had been prepared to _carry_ the man, if need be; but never in his life would he have expected…

Damn – Trip silently cursed. Did Malcolm really think that he would run off and save his own hide, leaving him to the mercy…

A barked command brought Trip's mind entirely back to the present.

One of five ominous-looking soldiers pushed Malcolm down roughly. The Lieutenant fell to his knees with a groan, and painfully lifted his arms, hands on the back of his head. There was the sharp, metallic sound of a weapon being charged.

From his cover, Trip frantically tried to single out which of the five aliens was getting ready to shoot. Damn! He wasn't sure. He moved his aim from one to the other, and his hand – he realised – wasn't as steady as it should be. A mad heartbeat certainly didn't help, plus it was hard to ignore Malcolm's trembling frame. Trip couldn't see his friend's eyes, for the Lieutenant had his back to him, but knew the man was shaking with more than weakness and fever, which sent a painful stab through his heart and another heavy curse through his mind.

_Stubborn S.O.B., see how you like playin' hero, now!_

"I come in peace," Malcolm croaked out in a hoarse voice. "I mean no harm."

He lifted his head to one of his captors, and all he got for that was the boot of another in the back, shoving him brutally to the ground. A muffled cry escaped his lips.

Trip felt his blood boil; but could he hope to stun five people before one of them shot the prisoner? Malcolm didn't look to be in any condition to help himself in a fire fight. On his side, arms wound tightly around his midsection, he had his eyes scrunched closed and lay frozen, obviously fighting waves of pain.

Finally, after a long moment, he slowly turned on his back. His breathing ragged, he locked eyes with the man towering above him, and now Trip could see that, despite the tremor that still shook him, his face had become a hard mask. Any evidence of fear had been forcefully shoved behind.

An evil grin twisted the alien's face. He raised his weapon and aimed, and the Lieutenant closed his eyes, resigned to his fate.

_The hell with that_.

Trip clenched his jaw and fired.

What happened next was to remain a blurred memory. There were shouts and shooting; bullets hissing past him. The alien Trip had stunned had collapsed on top of Malcolm, conveniently covering him with his body.

And then there was a most beautiful sound.

Trip reached into his pocket, and shouted into his communicator with as much breath as he had in his lungs, and Malcolm must have heard him, for he laboriously shoved the body off him, so that the transporter could grab him.

Next he knew Trip found himself on Enterprise. Dropping his phase pistol, he turned around. Malcolm lay on the transporter pad not far from him.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, before Phlox and his medics got in the middle. For once the grey gaze had been unguarded, but there had been too much to read in it, and not enough time.

* * *

This was the second day after their rescue, and Trip had not been to Sickbay yet. Sure, he knew Phlox had extracted the bullet and that Malcolm was going to be okay; but he had not visited.

Their brush with death had left him tired. No, exhausted.

Hell, who was he kidding? He was mad. And confused. Being confused actually made him all the madder, because he didn't like the idea that deep down he might have conflicted feelings about Malcolm's stunt. On a conscious level he just wanted to go to the man, grab him by the shoulders, give him a good shake, and shout in his face. That's how mad he was. But then there were all these other emotions which he couldn't put his finger on. In that maze he couldn't find himself; therefore he was staying away from a conversation that would be, at the very best, awkward.

So here he was, in Engineering, on the elevated platform, fine-tuning an already perfect Warp Engine. These days he felt a deep affinity with the machine and its turbulent innards.

Out of the corner of his eye, Trip saw someone grab the ladder and climb up to join him, and turned to see his Captain there. The fact that Archer had come all the way to Engineering was eloquent in itself. He cringed.

"You okay, Trip?" the Captain quietly asked, green eyes boring into him.

The use of his given name set an informal tone, so Trip silently jerked his head to one side. It was written all over his face how 'okay' he was. Jon, who was always quite attuned to his crew's feelings, would know. The report Trip had given him, after all – a _detailed_ report – must have given him a pretty clear idea.

Archer looked around to make sure they had enough privacy. "Burying your head in the sand is not going to make it any better."

A lot more was written in his steady gaze, where compassion and resolve were present in equal amounts. Trip had always admired that balance in Archer; it was the mark of a good leader. He knew what the Captain wanted to hear from him, but he wasn't ready to say it. He pulled a lopsided smirk, hoping his friend Jon would understand and leave him be.

"You're neglecting your duty, Commander," Archer, instead, formally insisted.

That changed things. Trip straightened his shoulders. "I don't see that, Sir," he countered.

Archer waited till Trip had dragged his gaze away from the panel and turned it to him before replying.

"You're my Third in Command. You owe an injured man a visit. It has become obvious to everyone that you're keeping away from Sickbay." Abandoning once more the official tone, he added, "It's not right what you're doing, Trip. You're making it difficult for him. For both of you."

"Do you have any idea how difficult _he_ made it for _me_, down there?" Trip snapped. Patience had never been his strong suit, least of all these past couple of days.

Rostov crossed the room, passing below the platform, but either he hadn't heard, or he wisely chose to pretend he hadn't.

"He acted like a damn fool," Trip continued, in a controlled but still taut voice. "What the hell went through his mind?"

"I think it's time you asked him," Archer came back. "Don't forget, he might have acted like a fool, but only to try and save your skin." Quietly, but in a tone that admitted no refusal, he said, "Tell him how wrong he was if you want, Commander, but don't ignore him. He doesn't deserve the cold shoulder."

Trip passed a hand through his hair. He knew an order when he heard one. Archer had put him in a corner; but he was right, of course. And surprisingly this conversation had dispelled some of the fog in which his mind had been groping. Yes, maybe it was time to go to Sickbay.

"Aye, Cap'n," Trip breathed out.

Archer clapped a hand to his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

TBC

One chapter left. Looking forward to your comments.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to all who read and reviewed. Last chapter.

§ 4 §

When Trip entered Sickbay, Phlox wasn't there. The place was more silent than usual, without the Doctor's cheerful presence; even his creatures seemed to be uncharacteristically quiet.

One bed was enclosed by a privacy curtain; steadying himself, he walked up to it and quietly moved the curtain aside just enough to take a peek behind it, wary of disturbing a sleeping patient.

No such luck.

Malcolm was lying on his back on the raised bed, wide awake, though he was staring absently ahead. An IV line was feeding something into his arm, and his face still showed signs of what he had gone through. Trip hadn't expected him still to look this off-colour.

He opened the curtain a bit more, and the noise made Malcolm turn, apprehension dawning in his grey gaze the moment he saw who was there.

"Commander," he croaked out, and started pushing to a straighter position.

"For heaven's sake, Malcolm," Trip butted in darkly, as he let himself inside the enclosure. "Do I need to point out that you're not wearing a uniform?"

The tone got him a quick but assessing look, undoubtedly meant to understand in what frame of mind he was. Malcolm opened his mouth to speak, though for a moment no words came out.

"I'm sorry," the man finally mumbled.

Trip's feelings toned down a notch, from suppressed anger to irritation; not because of the apology, but because of what he was reading on Malcolm's face. Obviously the Lieutenant had been going much through the same hell as he had, in these past couple of days – and that was not counting his injury.

Well, he was here to clear the air between them; so he'd better get down to it. The silence was already becoming an awkward presence between them.

Trip heaved a silent breath. "You had it all planned, hadn't you?" he asked deadpan. "It was when we were in that tunnel and you gave in to my insistence that we should stay together, and asked me to take point."

He got to the end of the bed and schooled his features as neutrally as he could, before turning to look Malcolm straight in the eye.

"That's when you made your decision."

That was one of the things that had got him mad; the man's deceitful premeditation.

Malcolm's brow creased in discomfort. "Trip, you wouldn't listen," he quietly countered. For a short moment his eyes shifted away; but they came back, troubled. "I knew I couldn't go on for much longer. I had to find a way… I felt I had to do something."

"_Something_, yeah," Trip snorted mirthlessly.

The scene was still before his eyes. He had scouted ahead and taken cover behind a rusty metal panel, phase pistol at the ready to protect Malcolm's progress. A patrol had been coming; it was going to appear any moment. Malcolm had been taking way too long to join him, and Trip had been about to jump out and help him when… under his very eyes, without a word or so much as a look, Malcolm had swerved and staggered towards those aliens. The sacrificial victim.

Emotions swelled within him at the recollection and Trip bit his lip, trying to keep a lid on them; he needed to find his calm again before he spit out the thing that had really pissed him off.

"Is that how you judge me? A selfish coward who'd abandon a man in enemy hands and run?"

The idea still filled him with outrage; and also with sorrow. He had thought he'd had a mutual understanding with this man; mutual respect. He may not be Security; may not have military training, but he'd never…

Malcolm frowned. "No," he stuttered, blinking, as if he were putting two and two together. "Bloody hell, Trip, no," he repeated with more force, dread entering his eyes. "There were all those patrols; they were closing in on us. I was slowing you down, was about to collapse… My duty was to keep you safe, and instead I had become a liability." Shaking his head, he added, hoarsely, "My actions never meant to imply..." Wincing, he let his voice trail off.

Trip expelled a tense breath. "Damn it, Malcolm, what were you _thinkin_? I didn't know what to do!" Anger still simmered just below the surface, lacing his voice in spite of his best efforts. "There was no way I would just stand and watch; but the hell if I knew what to do. I'm trained to keep a warp field stable, not free prisoners from a bunch of brutal soldiers."

"I'm sorry," Malcolm said with feeling once again. Gaze dropping to his lap, he added quietly, "It didn't work out quite the way I had expected. I thought..." He swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Well, the first time they had shot on sight."

Trip's eyes closed by reflex against the words' implications, and he wondered if his subconscious had known all along, and his mind had refused to believe it. That was probably why he'd been so confused. Yes. It was clear, now. Plan B had been thought out in chilling detail so that there would be no qualms leaving a man – a _dead_ man – behind.

He knew he should say something, but he couldn't find any words. So he blinked his eyes open again and just looked back dumbly.

"I know you're no coward," Malcolm mumbled, a pale smile – of all things – curving his lips in a bittersweet expression.

There was sincerity there, and Trip cursed his slow brain and impulsiveness. Damn, but he'd got it all wrong. If Malcolm had been convinced that he would never leave him behind – at least not _alive_ – the Lieutenant had actually thought that he was _all_ _but_ a coward.

"Hell, Malcolm," Trip blurted out, anger giving way to numbness. "No one life is more important than another. You should've never…"

"Not in my job," Malcolm cut in. He suddenly sounded self-assured, and his gaze didn't waver as he met Trip's squarely. "You may not like it, Commander, but that's how it is." A hint of resentment entering his voice, he added, "And – believe me – I don't particularly enjoy having a gun pointed at my head."

"No kiddin'," Trip said tautly. The image of Malcolm closing his eyes on his executioner was likely going to haunt his dreams for a while.

In the silence that fell, Trip studied the man. Malcolm's eyes were darkly rimmed, his breathing quicker than normal; indeed that IV line attested he was not well yet. He was pretty sure that if Phlox had been there he'd have booted him out of Sickbay already.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, a warmth in his voice that hadn't been there before. Malcolm must have heard it, for his expression softened, something akin to relief flitting across it.

"I've been better," he quietly admitted. "But now, I believe, the worst is over."

The hidden meaning was clear, but Trip chose to take the words at face value. "Good thing it was only a _scratch_," he said, letting a touch of humour lighten the mood.

"Trip, it wasn't very serious, honestly," Malcolm countered. "If it hadn't been for the blood loss..."

Trip rolled his eyes. "And what about 'the bleeding has virtually stopped'?"

"The bleeding _had_ virtually stopped."

The rueful expression that flitted across Malcolm's face wasn't going to let him off the hook. Trip shot him a narrowed-eyed look. "You know, I promised myself that if we survived I'd kill you with my own hands."

Malcolm lifted his eyebrows a la T'Pol. "Not a very logical course of action."

"Yeah, I'm sure our Subcommander would agree."

They shared a smile and a silence.

"Commander, thank you for what you did down there, looking after me," Malcolm added with a direct glance, bringing the conversation back to a more serious tone. His eyebrows lifted once more, this time in an expression of regret. "As for what you said, you're right, I put you in a difficult spot; but you stood by me and saved my life. I'm in your debt."

For once Trip didn't mind the man's formality. He appreciated what Malcolm wanted to convey with it, professional commendation for the way he had handled himself. He shook his head, though, feeling he hadn't really done very much.

"We were just lucky Enterprise paged me at the right moment; or we'd both be dead by now." He cleared his throat, jerking his head to the side. "Guess I owe you a thank you too, Lieutenant; for what you did to try and save _my_ life. I still think it was wrong, but it showed your loyalty, and that I appreciate."

Watching Malcolm drown in self-consciousness, he admonished, "Just don't you dare pull a stunt like that on me again."

The grey eyes shot up, mischief flashing through them. "I doubt you'd fall for it again." With a frown, Malcolm went on to enquire, "Have we at least found out who those aliens were, and why they wanted us dead?"

Trip shook his head. "No. All we know is that at some point they started registering on Enterprise's instruments. That's why, despite the communication problems we had experienced, they thought wise to contact us."

The Sickbay doors swished, announcing the arrival of somebody.

"Uh-oh, I think we're in trouble again," Trip quipped. "The Doc will skin us alive."

Malcolm winced. But it was Archer's face that appeared from behind the curtain a moment later.

"Commander, Lieutenant."

Malcolm looked back dumbly, before croaking out a greeting; Trip let out the breath he'd been holding.

The green eyes shifted from one to the other. "Everything okay?" Archer asked.

"Sure, Capt'n." Trip glanced at Malcolm; then added, in the man's same words from before, "I believe the worst is over."

A nod of satisfaction welcomed the words. "That's good to hear."

In spite of Archer's warm smile, discomfort dawned on Malcolm's face.

"Captain, regarding my report," the Lieutenant said feebly. "The Commander… He knows why I…" With a troubled look to Trip, he breathed out, "Perhaps he can fill you in, Sir."

"Trip has already given me a detailed report," Archer said carefully. "As to what you did-"

"The man just took the wrong turn, Capt'n," Trip butted in, eyes on the deck-plating. "It was the blood loss. Scrambled his mind."

"Commander..." Malcolm mumbled uneasily.

"As to what you did," Archer began again, with a quelling glance at his Chief Engineer, "I think it would be arrogant of me to pretend to judge your actions, considering the desperate situation you two faced." His green gaze shifted from one to the other again. "If you and the Commander have come to an understanding, that's good enough for me. All I need to know is that in case of trouble, my officers look out for each other."

There was a moment of silence.

"That you can be certain of, Sir," Malcolm finally breathed out, tension visibly leaving his body.

He had to agree – Trip mused, remembering Malcolm's staunchness in facing what he thought would be his death; and his own resolve, come what may, to save his friend.

He broke into a smile. "Yeah. I don't think you need to worry about that, Capt'n."

Archer put a fatherly hand on his shoulder. "Well, then, Commander," he said after a moment, green eyes sparkling. "We'd better let Malcolm rest, and leave before Phlox finds us here."

Trip shrugged. "After what we went through, the Doc doesn't sound like much of a threat, to be honest. After all, what can the man do to us?"

He knew he had shot his mouth the moment he saw alarm appear on Malcolm's face. He turned to see Phlox there, and the expression on his face was _not_ funny.

The Denobulan cradled his chin with one hand. "I could ask you to hold my Rigel X jumping spider while I extract its venom, Commander," he said deadpan. "It should be just about time to get a fresh supply of it. It's useful in curing-"

"We were just going, Doc – weren't we, Trip?" Archer put in, with a taut smile. "Rest well, Malcolm."

"Yeah, sweet dreams," Trip blurted out, stumbling after the Captain, who had grabbed his arm and was dragging him away.

* * *

Malcolm watched the Sickbay doors close after them and, though he felt quite exhausted, turned to Phlox, who was checking his monitors.

"Isn't Rigel X a bit too cold for spiders, Doctor?" he wondered, with a frown.

Phlox's intelligent blue eyes darted him a look. "Indeed there is no such creature as a Rigel X jumping spider," he said in his gruff voice, his focus back on adjusting the flow of the IV line.

"That was devious of you." Malcolm couldn't restrain a chuckle. "Especially knowing Commander Tucker's revulsion for insects and the like."

"Nonsense," Phlox came back gleefully. "Just clever use of tactics. You, of all people, should appreciate that, Lieutenant." Dimming the lights, he added, "Now, though, Mister Reed, there are plenty of creatures, in my menagerie, that are as potent as a sedative in putting a man to sleep, and have no collateral effects. They are quite useful with certain individuals who insist in tiring themselves unreasonably, against Doctor's orders."

Malcolm let his eyelids droop closed – and it didn't prove very difficult. "I can't think of anyone who'd fit that description," he drawled.

Certainly not him. He felt ready for his best sleep in months.

THE END

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